


Damaged Goods

by face70



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Abuse, Dehumanization, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fancy dinners, M/M, MT Prompto Argentum, Magitek Units, Maybe theres more tags idk, Objectification, Trash Jesus, inspired cause her stuff is like YO, kaciart, no beta we die like meb
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-15 05:45:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18067682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/face70/pseuds/face70
Summary: Machines don't bleed.So then why does Imperial Chancellor Izunia's MT have a bloody nose?Inspired by a daunting, fabulous work byKaciart. Truly a master at the craft of whump.





	1. Table Manners

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kaciart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaciart/gifts).



There was blood on his knuckles. 

Even from here, even from what felt like miles away, one hall over Noct could see it.

The guy had blood on his knuckles.

Noct stood stone still and watched through the archways. People passed through the corridor between this room and the next like ghosts he barely noticed for how laser focused he was on the chancellor and the chancellor’s… escort.

The MT. The one with blond hair and red eyes.

The one with blood streaming past his lips and twin rivers flowing from his nose. 

The one with that same stupid stoic face staring blankly at nothing.

“Hey.”

Noct saw Gladio creep near, the only indication of it his shield’s looming shadow.

“Hey,” Noct muttered in response, dark eyes locked on the scene a room over.

“Is that-”

“Yeah.” 

Noct was in the other room before he knew what hit him. He kept his arms folded neatly across his chest, fingers digging into the soft, fine sleeves of his shirt and gripping  _ hard. _

And he scowled up at the chancellor.

“To what do we owe the pleasu-” The chancellor looked over, one hand tending the other cradled in against his belly. He paused mid-sentence, amusement flickering cross his features and then settling there. “Ah, Prince Noctis,” Ardyn said with a smile, small and sharp, “Your compassion knows no bounds. Worrying for a machine?” 

“Do machines usually bleed?” 

The chancellor tilted his head as though Noctis spoke in some foreign tongue. He was playing- Noct could see it in the uptick of his lips.

Feigning confusion, Ardyn looked from the young Lucian heir to the MT beside him. His eyes grew wide, lips parting in faux realization. 

“Ah,” he gasped and turned, “Two-thirty-four.”

The blond keption motionless. Noct thought he saw a twitch.

“You’re getting blood on the Prince’s wonderfully polished floors.” 

Noctis watched every move, watched those red eyes come into some kind of focus as if waking from a dream. The MT… the blond boy blinked, gaze falling to the few drops of crimson at the toe of his boot. Swiftly, he knelt, metal fingers of one heavy gauntlet pinching his bloodied nose while the others swept over the black marble with the hem of his cape.

He mopped up his own blood without complaint. 

Without any kind of acknowledgement, really. 

The image stayed with Noctis into the second course of their five course dinner. 

Ardyn sat across the table a few seats up near the head where Noct’s father was flanked by his own shield and the Marshal. 

Beside the chancellor, or behind him rather, stood the MT like Ardyn’s very own shadow.

“It’s no trouble, Chancellor,” the King had offered, his men ready at a moment’s notice to bring in a chair for the chancellor's unexpected plus one.. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it, your Majesty. Pay my dear escort no heed. Its appearance may be a marvel of our glorious empire, but I assure you Two-Thirty-Four is as empty as its title implies.” 

Noctis bristled once more and if the Chancellor saw it he smiled anyway. 

“I’m quite fond of this model,” the Chancellor continued while he poked at the peas on his plate, “Slender. Smaller in stature, as i’m certain you’ve noticed,” he gestured vaguely to the considerably taller MT, this one with a helmet, beside the blond, “Prompt response time- rapid fire, even. Far more...how might you say…  _ malleable _ than its perhaps sturdier counterparts.”

“Not much of a shield,” Gladio noted much to the ire of his father who’s burning gaze he ignored. Or tried to.

The Chancellor looked over with a sparkle in his eyes.. 

“No, I suppose not. But what Two-Thirty-Four lacks in size it makes up for in speed. That and-” He paused, fingertip drumming against his chin, “- flexibility.”

“The Empire never ceases to amaze, Chancellor,” King Regis said.

“Nor to bewilder I should hope.”

The second course was replaced with the third. Shining white plates were set before the guests, each of them with gourmet delights that bored Noctis to tears on a good night when instead he’d whine for Ignis to whip something up.

Tonight, he had no such complaints. Tonight, his eyes drifted too often to the blond MT. To Two-Thirty-Four.

To the boy that looked so,  _ so  _ human with his black eye and bruised brow; so young with the hint of dried blood just above his lips and just under his nose.

Stone-faced, the MT stood at parade rest behind the Chancellor. Sullen, Noct wondered what those red eyes saw with that thousand-yard stare. If they saw anything at all.

“Two-Thirty-Four.”

Noct frowned and watched.

“My hand, if you would.” The chancellor extended his hand,  _ the  _ hand, the knuckles still swollen and puffed, only just, but enough to tell what had happened. The MT reached out, metal fingers surprisingly swift and gentle in handling the soft, mortal flesh between their steel digits.

A massage.

At the dinner table.

Noctis set down his fork. He heard the clinking of silverware against fine Altissan dishes go quite quiet.

“Please, pay us no heed,” the Chancellor cooed as though sheepish, “I’m afraid my old joints are far more trouble than they used to be. That or the warm Lucian air is playing tricks on these tired bones.” He turned his hand in the MT’s grasp, fingers splayed and palm skyward. “ _ Ah.. _ . yes, just like that.”

The dinner guests bristled. Ignis cleared his throat. 

The Chancellor opened his eyes and looked over. A cheshire smile pulled at his lips, “Oh, my. I take it this might be a tad...inappropriate?”

Noct looked at Gladio who opted for openly glaring at their guest. 

“Lucian customs may differ from those of Niflheim, Chancellor,” Ignis explained, ever the diplomat, “That isn’t to say we don’t appreciate the Empire’s eccentricity.” 

“How open minded,” the Chancellor mused. He withdrew his hand, eyes flitting from one dinner guest to the next until they landed on Noctis. “We certainly do indulge from time to time and the dinner table is no exception. Not in our royal court at least. These MTs are useful contraptions. Did you know, Prince Noctis,” he leaned in, “that those uses extend beyond the battlefield?”

Noct frowned. 

“No.” 

“Oh, well of course!” the Chancellor sang, all theatrics, “The best technology is born from war, after all. Facilities that once produced weaponry may in time produce luxury conveniences. All the better if they produce both at once. Less wasteful, you see.”

“Yeah right.”

It was the King’s turn to clear his throat. Noct glanced at him briefly, vaguely apologetic, before his attention swept back to their ‘guest.’

“Shall I - oh, I think I will. Perhaps a demonstration. After all, providing entertainment is the least I can do to repay such hospitable generosity.” 

Before anyone could speak the Chancellor retrieved his spoon. He held it out and dropped it, the metal trinket clattering against fine marble floor.

“Two-Thirty-Four,” the Chancellor said, eyes on Noctis, “Be a dear and pick that up.”

Without missing a beat the blond MT took a knee and reached out, its gauntleted-fingers plucking up the utensil.

“So obedient, isn’t it?”

Noct felt his second course roiling in his gut. 

“An admirable quality in any soldier,” King Regis stated, voice flat, channeling some diplomacy of his own. 

“Oh, but not just soldiers. Two-Thirty-Four.”

The MT went still, all eyes on him or the Chancellor who leaned back a bit in his chair and crossed his legs. 

“My boots are in need of a shine. Dirtied from our journey, I’m sure you’ll understand,” he explained to his audience, gaze falling to the blond at his feet. “Clean them up for me, would you?”

It was silent. The MT came alive and moved to obey.

“With your tongue.”

Noct stared in horror as the MT bowed over, pink tongue darting out through its swollen lips.

“Stop this!”

The Chancellor’s gaze shot to Noct as he stood, his chair scraping against the floors. 

Ardyn held out his hand and the MT stopped short.

“Prince Noctis, the battlefields are littered with the scraps of these units,” the Chancellor said and let his hand rest atop the MT’s head, thick fingers weaving through blond tufts of hair, “You showed little remorse then. Is it because you see his face now?” 

The Chancellor gripped the MT’s hair tight and pulled back, baring his blank face for his audience. 

“I promise you they all look identical.”

“I must agree with my son, Chancellor,” said the King, stone-faced, “Surely an emissary of your stature brings with him other topics to discuss.”

The Chancellor looked over. Noctis saw him tighten his grip, knuckles going white. 

He saw the MT wince. Just a flicker, just briefly, but-

But it did. It  _ winced.  _

Then the Chancellor released him and looked at Noctis with a wide smile.

“Of course, how rude of me. Tell me, Highness, how is your beautiful fiance?”

“You’d know better than me.”

From the corner of his eye, Noctis saw his father expel a stately, weary sigh.

King Regis knew a lost cause when he saw one.

Dinner adjourned. 


	2. Cool It

“Hey.” Noct winced when the MT turned and faced him, eyes glimmering and looking at him but like… not.

“Good Evening, your Highness.”

“Yeah.” Noct shifted his weight, eyes flicking toward the end of the hall. It was the first time he’d seen the guy alone. Last thing he needed was an interruption.

And he had a feeling if anyone was gonna interrupt it’d be that creep Chancellor.

“So hey, are you… okay?” He looked back at the guy and frowned. That shiner finally started to swell. “Does it hurt?”

The MT stared at him blankly. Well. It stared at everything blankly, but this was more or something.

“I don’t understand your request. My apologies, your Highness.”

“Your face,” Noct gestured vaguely at him, “That Chancellor guy hurt you. Or, I mean… you were bleeding. Does it… hurt?” _-of course it hurt-_ “Do you want ice or… “

The MT lifted his hand, metal fingers hovering just beside his black eye before he let it fall to his side.

“I understand,” he stated, “It is negligible.”

Noct clenched his fists and stepped forward. “It’s _not_!” he insisted. “He can’t just beat up on you.”

The MT stared at him.

“Say something!”

“What would you like me to say, your Highness?”

Noct groaned.

“Okay.” He grabbed the MT by the hand and turned, dragging it along behind him with a, “Come on.”

The MT followed.

Noct took the Citadel ‘backroads.’ He wasn’t about to be stopped and asked a bunch of stupid questions or lectured.

_“It’s just a machine, your Highness, no need to worry.”_

_“That thing’s your mortal enemy, your Highness, you should be alone with it.”_

_“Blah blah blah, your-”_

“Your Highness.”

Noct snapped to and looked past his shoulder, the MT trailing close behind.

“Unit Two-Thirty-Four has not been granted permission to leave its post.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t care. We’re getting you some ice.”

Noct charged on and gave the MT a gentle tug for good measure.

They slipped into the infirmary, devoid of life at this hour. He made way for the freezer and finally released the MT once they got close.

“Stay here,” he muttered before ducking in a retrieving one of the ice packs kept inside. He turned, pleased to see the guy still in place. Less pleased to see he looked as blank as ever.

“Here,” Noct offered the ice pack, “For your eye.”

The MT took the pack but remained otherwise still.

And just… stayed that way.

Noct sighed and plucked the pack back.

“...here.” Gently as he could, he pressed it against the growing bruise on the side of the guy’s head, just by his shiner. He winced in empathy when the MT grimaced. “It should help the swelling go down,” he explained, “Can you hold it?”

“Yes, your Highness.” The MT immediately raised his hand to replace Noct’s and kept the ice pack in place.

“If it gets too cold you can let it go, but… that helps, right?”

“Yes, your Highness.”

Noct frowned at him. “You don’t always have to say that, y’know.”

The MT stared at him. Noct sighed.

“I mean you don’t have to say ‘your Highness’ every time you talk to me.”

“I apologize, your- My apologies. What would you prefer?”

Noct stared at him and hesitated. He just met this thing… this guy. He was a Niff. A MT…

“Just… Noctis is fine.”

“I understand, Noctis.”

The MT withdrew the ice pack briefly before placing it back, skin pink and bright where it’d been resting.

Noct gave him the once over again, this time up close and personal. If he had to guess… the guy looked about his age. Did MTs age? He looked young, a dusting of freckles over pale (and bruised, Noct mused bitterly) skin, red eyes peeking out under tamed blond bangs. Kinda good looking for a MT.

_“ -those uses extend beyond the battlefield - “_

Noct’s eyes flicked to the MT’s lips, briefly-

He blushed and looked away.

“So how old are you anyway?”

“Unit 05953234 was created in October M.E. 733, Noctis.”

“Created,” Noct echoed and glanced back, “So you’re my age. Almost.”

“Yes, Noctis.”

“Are they all… do all MTs look like… “ Noct stumbled over his words trying to find the right ones, “Do they all look like you? Like… people? Under that armor?”

“Certain MT makes and models are armor powered solely by Magitek cores, Noctis.”

“What about your… model?” Noct muttered like the words were ash on his tongue.

“Two-Thirty-Four is-”

“Ah, doth my ears deceive me? The young Lucian prince befriending his enemy’s greatest weapon?”

Noct looked over with a scowl at the Chancellor in the doorway. He stood flanked by a trio of Kingsglaive Noct didn’t recognize and one very annoyed-looking advisor he did.

“Having a pleasant evening I trust, Highness?” Ignis asked, expression tight.

“Uh. Yeah. We just-”

“You needn’t explain yourself, Prince Noctis- I am but a man of no consequence,” the Chancellor cut in, “Two-Thirty-Four is a favorite of mine as well. Which is why I’m afraid I’ve come steal him away.”

Noct met the Chancellor’s amber eyes. His tone sat in Noct’s gut wrong. Everything about the guy did.

He glanced aside and looked at the MT with a frown. The guy still had the ice pack on his face and stared straight ahead, but…

But he was holding it tight. Real tight.

“I don’t-”

“Highness,” Ignis cut in, “Might I encourage you to leave the Chancellor with his escort? I’m sure they’d appreciate some time to decompress after their journey.”

“Yeah, I know. But he-”

“Is in safe hands, Prince Noctis. Of that I can assure you.” The Chancellor smiled and turned his attention to the MT. Noct saw something flash in his eyes but couldn’t put his finger on what. “Shall we, then?”

Without missing a beat, the blond obeyed.

The Chancellor stopped short and held up a hand.

“Now, now,” the Chancellor plucked the ice pack away and reached out with his free hand, thumb brushing over the MT’s bright pink skin surrounding his black eye, “Be a good lad and thank the Prince for his generosity, yes?”

He withdrew and Two-Thirty-Four turned and bowed.

“Thank you, Noctis.”

Noct winced, catching Ignis’ startled look from the corner of his eye as well as the Chancellor’s equal surprise that faded into a smugness unrivaled.

“Well, then. Sweet dreams, your Highness. Come along, Two-Thirty-Four.”

And then they were gone.

 


End file.
